


Sweltering

by CollingwoodGirl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Banter, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Heatwave, Hispano-Suiza, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/pseuds/CollingwoodGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melbourne is suffocating under a heat wave. Phryne uses the Inspector's weakened state to her advantage.</p><p>Chapters 1 & 2 are really T-rated.<br/>Chapter 3 is definitely M!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Phryne!

DI Jack Robinson hated to admit defeat. But, defeated he was. Not by a crime boss or a crooked police commissioner, or even a certain infuriating lady detective. But, by the bloody weather.

A heat wave had been waging war on Melbourne for weeks, leaving the city a soggy, wilted shadow of itself. People on the street seemed to be moving in a perpetual state slow motion and packed into the city's trams like sardines in order to avoid the scalding sidewalks. Motor cars hissed with the sound of overheated radiators and flat tires caused by the rapidly expanding air. As if the soaring temperatures weren't bad enough, near daily thunderstorms turned the morning sauna into an afternoon steam bath.

Even with both doors open, the DI's office felt like an oven. The sun blazed through his north-facing window and the stagnant air, thick with humidity, gave him the impression of breathing underwater. Jack removed his suit jacket and hung it on the coat stand behind his desk, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of being less than perfectly buttoned up and armored while on duty. He had earned this option, he reasoned, might as well take advantage of it. Whereas Collins, Mathis, and the other junior officers had no choice but to suffocate in their mandatory uniforms.

He settled back at his desk, pulling toward him a stack of paperwork that required his approval. While the weather had seemed to repress some of the organized crime activity, there had been no shortage of brawls, domestic disputes, and drunk & disorderlies due to the simple fact that tempers escalated along with the temperature. The Inspector read each case file and separated them methodically into the ones that needed revisions and the ones which were in order and onlu required his signature.

It was tedious work and Jack tried to manage it with his usual sense of dedication, in spite of the heat - pointedly ignoring the perspiration beading on his brow and the slip of the pen between his sweaty fingers, blotting ink over the paper.

The clock on the mantle struck the hour as Jack signed his name to the last page. It was barely eleven o'clock in the morning and he felt a mess. He laid the fountain pen down on his desk and cupped his face in his hands, momentarily shutting out the sunlight that, honestly, seemed like a personal affront at this point. Issuing a deep sigh, he attempted to sweep his hair back off his forehead but the damp tousles promptly fell back onto his face. Not even his pomade stood a chance against the oppressive humidity.

When he noticed the mottled black blotches on side of his palm, Inspector Robinson finally lost his temper. Swearing under his breath, he rolled up his shirtsleeves to avoid getting ink on the cuffs.

"Language, Inspector," a silky voice reprimanded.

Appearing in his doorway, the very embodiment of a cool breeze, was Miss Fisher. Her black bob was as sleek and shiny as ever, the tips in front pointing to her perfectly lacquered lips which were curled in a moue of amusement. She wore a white silk blouse with a brilliant blue gauzy scarf and crisp white trousers which, he noticed, had nary a crease. In her hands she held a pair of white gloves and a white sun hat.

He should have known that a silly little thing like _nature_ wouldn't keep her from achieving her near-constant state of perfection.

His current annoyance notwithstanding, Jack appreciated the care she took with her presentation. After spending his war years filthy with mud and blood, bodily fluids and parasites, Jack found no small amount of pride and safety in his own neat and layered appearance. Wielding one's sartorial choices was a way of asserting yourself to the world. Or, in his case, shielding himself from it. He suspected their motives were quite different but they came down to the same thing. Control. And so, he sulked at being caught by her in his own disheveled state - which left him feeling far more vulnerable than he would have cared to admit.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Fisher?" Jack snarked as he rubbed at the ink stain on his palm with a handkerchief. Discomfited as he was, he failed to notice the way her lips parted when her gaze found their way to his undone top button.

"Jack," she teased, and closed the door behind her. "Since when do I need a reason to pay you a visit?" Compelled to get a closer look, she tossed her belongings into the empty chair and made her way - unbidden - to his side of the desk. She cleared a spot and leaned her hip against it, her long legs stretching out in front, trapping Jack where he sat with her version of a human barricade.

"Rough morning?" she asked, tilting her head toward the stacks of files.

A muffled grunt was his only response as he continued to scrub his hands, trying desperately to ignore her nearness. He was almost drunk with the heat alone and her proximity threatened to turn it into a lethal cocktail.

"Mmm. Too hot for conversation. I quite agree." Phryne never shied away from admiring Jack and she didn't now. Her curious eyes indulged at the sight of him, frazzled and undone, the likes of which she had rarely seen him. It was more than a little arousing, the way his hair curled haphazardly across his forehead, his sinewy forearms bared and glistening with perspiration, dampness turning his usually crisp shirt nearly transparent in places.

Jack, on the other hand, was doing his utmost to keep his own eyes to himself. His nerves were on edge and a feeling of recklessness was seeping under his skin - a feeling that might lead to rash decisions if he wasn't careful. He felt her gaze, even hotter than the sun's, raking over him as he fussed with the spilled ink and idly wondered what he must look like to her.

He would have been very surprised to know that at that very moment, she was following a drop of sweat as it trailed from his temple, alongside his ear, and slowly made its way down his neck. As the drop was swallowed by the line of his collar, she lost her breath.

 _God, she wanted him._ Months of doing this little dance - this slow waltz with Jack - had left her feeling dizzy, almost desperate, with desire for him. The feeling was mutual, she knew, but whether out of propriety or fear, he had managed to parry each and every one of her advances. _Well, not this time,_ she assured herself. She had been far too obliging of his sense of nobility or righteousness - or whatever the hell you called it when you denied yourself the very thing you longed for most. The time had come for action and if all else failed, she would plead insanity and blame it on the heat wave.

Shaking her head slightly to regain her faculties, she removed herself from his desk and poured a whiskey from the bottle he kept in the sideboard.

She was met only with a raised eyebrow when she brought the glass back to the desk. Slowly, she reached for the handkerchief and was surprised by how easily it slipped from his grip. She turned to dip it into the golden liquid and when she righted herself, she held out her left hand and waited.

 _Reckless!_ his mind screamed but Jack's stained hand was already finding its way into Miss Fisher's outstretched one. He felt her give it a gentle squeeze before she applied the dampened cloth to the cuff of his shirtsleeve. It wasn't long before the inkstain started to dissolve.

He cleared his throat and attempted to gain some control back by vexing her. "Thinking of opening a laundry, Miss Fisher? Provide competition for the Magdalenes' business?"

Phryne barked a laugh in response, her eyes glittering in a way that made Jack's heart leap. He could never resist that she shared his dry, and often dark, sense of humor. "I hadn't considered it! But, it's an intriguing idea! We could call it 'Suds for Sins,'" she agreed and laughed heartily, the gorgeous, sparkling sound making Jack feel like he was losing ground instead of gaining it.

Her attention then moved to brushing the cloth against his skin. He watched her hand move rhythmically over his while the other anchored his to the spot. The alcohol in the whiskey was slowly but steadily removing the ink and it chilled his heated skin in a most pleasurable way. It felt oddly strange and yet completely natural to be the subject of her care... and he found it utterly intoxicating. Jack was instantly reminded of a similar time in his office, involving his tie, when he had very nearly acted on his burgeoning feelings and fought hard to control the same impulse now.

"But, for now," she continued in a playful voice, overlooking the fact that his hand was now slightly trembling in hers. "I'm simply sharing some useful tips I've gleaned from Dot. Apparently, alcohol is most effective at removing lipstick as well... Should you ever need to know."

He knew she was teasing him. Tempting him with her words and her close contact. It had taken every bit of his willpower to resist Miss Fisher's charms this far. It had been easier in the beginning when he could convince himself that his reasoning was sound - he had been married, after all. His integrity would never have allowed him to break the vows he had made to his wife, despite the lies he had eventually been forced to tell in the courtroom in order to give her the divorce she desired. Once the divorce had finally come through, Jack had found himself on a bit of an emotional roller coaster what with having to deal with his own feelings of failure and nearly losing Phryne to the menace of Murdoch Foyle.

But, Jack was nothing if not resilient. He had survived the Great War, the Policeman's Strike and he would survive these things too. He had found an even keel soon enough but along with it came the unexpected, rather persistent, and not wholly undesired company of Miss Fisher. Suddenly, turning down her advances had become much more difficult. There were times when he had wanted her more than he wanted to breathe. Wanted to know how the feel of her skin against his would live up to the version he satisfied himself with in his own imagination. But he would not jeopardize their partnership nor his heart with a dalliance. What they had was far too precious - a lesson he had learned the hard way, when he had attempted to cut her out of his life.

Lately, however, her enticements were becoming too much to bear and he was running out of excuses. His original objections carried less and less weight. It turned out that their partnership was stronger than he had been willing to give it credit for. It had managed not only to survive their estrangement but thrive in the following months. They had rebuilt the trust that they shared and it felt even more unshakable beneath his feet. In fact, he often caught himself thinking that they were more in step than ever before. And not just professionally. Jack could never again attempt to deny his feelings for her, but what surprised him was how often in the past few months she had returned the sentiments with interest. Even to the Inspector's practical way of thinking, it no longer appeared to be a question of _if_   but, _when_.

Even now, he couldn't resist brushing the knuckles of his free hand against her azure scarf, which floated in the modest space between them like a cloud. Breathing her in as she leaned over him, Jack noticed that she was wearing a different perfume. This one - he had no doubt - was also of French pedigree and must have cost a pretty penny but it was more forward than her usual scent. More... _intimate_ , he supposed was the right word. It made him think of forbidden places - the spices of exotic lands and the sweet, musky smell of unexplored terrain. The likes of which was just inches away.

She had applied it sparingly but she was close enough now for him to know exactly where she had daubed the heady notes. Mapping a trail down her body, perhaps just for him. For a moment, he wondered if this is what his years of detective work had come to - having to bear the burden of her every single nuance. He pushed the thought aside as the perfume captivated him once more. _Just beneath her ears,_ he thought, as his eyes searched out the delicate spots without his permission. His gaze drew down to the notch between her clavicles and he took a deep breath. _There, too._ He licked his lips subconsciously as he noted the sheen that had materialized across her  décolleté since arriving in his stuffy office. He was unable to stop himself from imagining her hand dotting the cool crystal stopper along her sternum and found that his gaze followed his thoughts, and lower, to where her own scent would surpass any other.

The last of the ink residue long since vanquished, her fingers continued to caress his hand. He finally allowed himself to look up at Phryne's face and found that his gaze was met instantly by darkened eyes. A sultry smile was bestowed on him, her lips twisted in a bright red bow that he ached to unwrap. Jack was so caught off guard by her unmasked attraction, he actually smiled back. He saw her eyes widen in surprise and triumph and he felt immediately wrong footed.

"Ah, thank you," he murmured, half surprised that he could speak at all and reluctantly wrenched his hand and eyes away from her.

Phryne let his hand slip away but continued to smile, a wicked glint sparkling now in her eye. She had been watching him closely as he had given himself permission to take her in, indulge in her touch and proximity. She could practically feel the heat smoldering from him. All she needed to do was strike the match and pray that the fire would consume them both.

"You've got more," she informed him, her voice as smooth as the whiskey.

She raised her hand to his face and skimmed a curled finger across the soft skin under his chin, her thumb braced against the small cleft.

"Just here," she breathed, reveling in the feeling of his tender flesh, how his eyes fluttered shut at her touch, the tiny shudder that seized through him and electrified her fingers.

A tiny huff of breath escaped his lips, sharpening his features. But before he could protest, she brandished the whiskey-soaked handkerchief again and was blotting his throat, careful to let the backs of her fingers brush against as much of his exposed skin as possible.

Jack sat stock still, seemingly in utter anguish as his body rejoiced at her touch while his brain stuttered for a reason to stop her. 

Phryne had lowered her face so close to his, she could feel his breath ghosting against her, count the green flecks in his aquamarine eyes. She felt his adam's apple bob against her hand and knew his self-control was tenuous at best.

"Phryne," he whispered. His nostrils flared as he spoke and it was the sound of her given name on his lips - the pleading tone in which it was uttered - that provoked her.

"Are you alright?" she asked - the very picture of innocence. "You seem a bit overheated, Inspector," she challenged, looking him directly in the eye and refusing to give an inch.

"I'm quite sure that has little to do with the weather, Miss Fisher," he whispered, as his brow furrowed in the way he had no idea made him completely irresistible to his opposite.

His mouth fell open as she pulled something from her cleavage. But it was only another handkerchief. This one of a sumptuous, snow-white cotton and delicately embroidered in the corner with a "PF" in a curly script. With it, she gently wiped the perspiration from his face.

First, across his brow, then down the planes of each cheek, along his jaw and finally, over his upper lip. With a cunning hand, she nudged his curls up toward his hairline, careful to let the tips of her nails graze his scalp, eliciting another strangled tremor from him.

"There," she said, her eyes softening at the sight of him forcing a swallow down his throat as he waged a private war with his dishonourable intentions. But if this was to be the deciding battle, she was nothing less than a mercenary - determined to do whatever was necessary to reap the spoils. And so, she carded her fingers through his hair, down the back of his neck, finally following the line of his shirt and smoothing the collar.

She let her gaze drop to his mouth. That beautiful, soft mouth. What was she waiting for?

Her ruby lips parting, she brought them a mere breath from his and charged the frontlines, brushing a kiss against them.

It was over in seconds but her skin felt electrically charged and her heart was pounding in her chest, sending the sound of desire rushing through her ears. Gathering her wits, she tried to assess Jack's reaction to her forwardness. She had expected surprise, of course. But she did not anticipate the sharp look in his eyes. It was very nearly angry.

The Inspector abruptly leaped from his chair, clasping her wrists in his hands - her initial position so close to him that she was now backed up against his desk.

"Miss Fisher!" he all but hissed. "How dare you come into my office and-"

"And what?" she demanded, feeling suddenly defensive. She glittered back up at him.

She looked dangerous in a way that only made him want her more. Jack felt the heat pooling, low in his belly, and it fueled his outrage. What gave her the right to invade his office - his only refuge - and derail him this way? To make him feel wild and alive and like he might break apart at any second if he couldn't taste her again?

His whole body was shaking in earnest, now, and he brought her wrists down alongside her body so her hands were forced to the top of his battered desk. Leaning into her, he held her there with the weight of his large frame and noticed, with no small amount of satisfaction, that her hair was ruffled - a result of his sudden movements.

When he finally spoke, his voice was like gravel. "And leave me with no choice."

Her mouth opened to inquire further but it was too late. Jack captured the question with his own. He relinquished her wrists, pinning her to his desk instead with his hips, so his hands were free to thread through her hair, mussing it further, pulling her closer.

She uttered a muffled cry as her own hands tried to find purchase. But they wouldn't settle - there was too much of him to explore. She cupped his jaw around each ear, dragged on his shoulders and stroked down his biceps as he kissed her mercilessly, the way she had been dreaming of for months. When her palms found his hips, he involuntarily bucked and pulled away from her, a growl issuing from his bruised lips.

Phryne looked up at him in wonder. She had little doubt that the Inspector was a passionate man. What, with his Dionysian way of devouring his meals and his secret love of music and theater. And the way she would catch him looking at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. But perhaps she had underestimated him. Perhaps his desires rivaled his heart for depth. Her loins convulsed at the thought.

"Careful, Miss Fisher. I have little desire to be sacked for committing a crime right here on my desktop."

"Is that a promise or a threat, Detective Inspector?" she asked coyly, her fingers climbing up the silk length of his tie to drag him back to her.

"As you wish," he retorted, smirking with happiness to find himself bantering with her in this new way.

"Well, I would hate to compromise your... position." She punctuated the last few words with kisses to his throat, tasting the salt on his skin and rendering Jack quite speechless.

Heaven was interrupted by a sharp rap at the glass of the DI's door, which brought them both back to their Earthly reality. Recalling the untimely interruption by George Sanderson months before, neither had the desire to repeat the mortifying experience.

"Um, Sir?" a timid voice called out. "Is Miss Fisher in there with you?"

Jack was at once grateful for the heat as it provided an excellent excuse for his flushed skin. He cleared his throat and, remembering what Phryne had said about lipstick, the DI dragged the discarded handkerchief across his lips and throat as she took her usual place on the corner of his desk, crossing her legs at the ankles and plastering a look of complete innocence on her face.

"Ah, come in, Collins!"

A heavy basket was precariously balanced in the young constable's arms as he managed to open the door. With some relief, he found the occupants of the room leafing through a case file.

Not for an instant did Miss Fisher miss how Jack sat up straighter in his chair at the sounds of tableware clinking.

"What have you got there?" Inspector Robinson asked, trying to sound nonchalant when, in fact, his stomach had just grumbled loudly.

Hugh looked between them for a moment, not sure who to answer to. Deciding that Dorothy Williams held the keys to his happiness with a tighter fist than either of them, he simply said "Dottie asked me to deliver this to Miss Fisher on my way back to the station."

Jumping down from the desk, Miss Fisher padded over to Hugh and peeked in the basket. "How delightful! Thank you, Hugh!" and she beamed at him in such a way that the young man could only avert his eyes and blush. "Would you mind putting it in the Hispano? I'm parked just out front."

The Inspector rolled his eyes, unsure which bothered him more - that she had such a way with his constable or that her fancy motor car was most certainly occupying an illegal parking space right outside his police station.

"Perhaps, if you're not too busy Inspector, you might like to join me for lunch on the foreshore? It's much too hot to enjoy ourselves in here."

Her impish smile left him grinning back at her, "Once again, Miss Fisher, I fear you leave me no choice. But, _I'm driving._ "

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drive in the Hispano and a picnic lunch...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to izzyandlouie (I know you felt bad about Jack's shoes) and Lady Grey, who gave me the idea to include a nap in order to achieve the Phrack trifecta of sex, food and sleep!

His initial insistence that he drive her car had mostly been about trying to throw Miss Fisher off balance. To swing the pendulum of control back to his favor. Jack would have never admitted it but, in the shock of excitement that had spread through his belly as he snatched the Hispano's key from Phryne's fingers, he had forgotten all about propriety and left his hat and suit jacket hanging limply from the coat rack in his office. Somehow, she had managed to get the upper hand without even trying.

He shouldn't have been surprised that even an inanimate object in her possession could wield a certain power over him. Of course, this was no ordinary object. It was her Hispano-Suiza, a car built for a king. With its six-cylinder engine and 135 horses, Jack had been looking for an excuse to get behind its wheel for months and, now that he had the chance, he was going to enjoy every minute. The fact that _this_ particular model came equipped with a clever vision of a woman, who was currently grinning wickedly at him, only spurred on his enthusiasm. He was suddenly quite glad that he had informed the lads that he would not be returning to the station this day.

Flashy cars weren't usually Jack Robinson's style but he could certainly see the appeal of a car like this. The Hispano responded effortlessly to his touch and driving it filled him with a kind of confidence. The wind felt marvelous in his unencumbered hair - even if the lack of a hat meant the sun was beating down on him. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of the vibrations coursing up through his hands. It reminded him of their kiss, how the humming of her lips between his had sent him reeling. The Hispano had a lot in common with Miss Fisher, Jack thought. Powerful, seductive, and rather lethal in the wrong hands.

Hands, as it happened, were exactly what was on Miss Fisher's mind at that very moment. Phryne had spent a lot of time thinking about Jack's hands, of late. Just as she had longingly watched them stroking over the keys on her pianoforte, she watched them now as his knuckles and tendons flexed with each nudge of the wheel, his palms wrapped around it, anchoring it to himself. She imagined what they might feel like on her bare hips, heavy and warm and just the tiniest bit rough against her skin. Would he helm her body as easily as he did these things or might those strong hands tremble just a bit? Both, she hoped.

When Jack dared take his eyes off the road, he could see Miss Fisher attempting to nonchalantly observe his every move through her dark sunglasses. It was far too loud in the roaring motor car to talk and he could feel the expectation and anticipation building between them. His mind wandered to the future and he wondered what this might mean for the next round of whiskeys in her opulent parlour. If, after their case talk ceased and their usual quiet reflections had been shared, would he at last be free to entwine his body with hers on the chaise in front of the fire? Kiss her neck and nuzzle her shoulder, engulfing himself with the smell of her new perfume? Perhaps stay for longer than propriety allowed?

Deciding impulsively to eschew the turn for the St. Kilda foreshore, Jack caught the impression of a finely penciled eyebrow surfacing over Phryne's modern frames in the manner of a dolphin coming up for air. He allowed himself a tiny smirk as his change in direction seemed to unsettle her.

"I thought there was 'nothing like a day at the seaside,' Jack?" Phryne asked, attempting to sound unperturbed at the detour and failing miserably.

Feeling a spike of warmth at the fact that she remembered his words from so long ago, Jack found it quite difficult to hold his tongue and continue to drive toward South Melbourne.

"Quite, Miss Fisher," he replied cagily and let his mind drift back to that old case - one in which there had been many victims and little justice - and thought of their bet, one that had surely guaranteed him the prize even though he had lost the wager. With Phryne, he had rediscovered the joy that had once lived in his heart. A passion that emboldened him.

Without warning, Jack took a sharp and well-practised turn that, he noted with satisfaction, made Miss Fisher grip her own safety handle. They were no longer on a road but on an unmarked path, hidden from plain view by overgrowth. He continued to ease the Hispano over the rocky and untamed terrain until he reached a copse of frangipani trees.

Parking the car under the shade the branches afforded, Jack abruptly cut the engine.

"Where are we?" she asked, cocking her head. She was very sure they were in the middle of bloody nowhere and was suddenly afraid that Jack had gotten cold feet - and had brought her here for a good telling off instead. Jack did have a bit of a temper, she thought fondly, remembering how the brief glimpses of passion usually had the opposite of his intended effect on her. Yesterday, she might have found that prospect thrilling. But that was before she had felt the press of him against her, the gentle swirl of his tongue in her mouth.

No. She would not let his old fashioned sense of virtue get the best of him - of them - yet again. "Jack!" she demanded, "Where _are_ we?"

"That's confidential police information," he cheeked at her, his eyes dancing, the corner of his lips lilting toward the sky. Quick as a flash, Jack reached his long body into the backseat and extracted the picnic hamper. He was already five strides away when he turned back to find her looking dumbfounded at him, a dazed smile on her face at the recognition of the words and their implication. "Come along, Miss Fisher! I expected you to keep up!"

She watched as Jack disappeared into the dense patch of greenery and followed him, realizing she was shaking with an anticipation she had not felt in a very long time. Phryne emerged on the other side of the copse to find Jack laying out the picnic rug, half in shade and half in sun, on a small thatch of grass that overlooked the entire length of the foreshore.

Answering her unasked question, Jack informed her that he had had occasion some time ago to survey the beach for a lookout point to keep a constabulary eye out for unsavory activities. Since then, he had secured the right to trespass on the private property from the landholder, who had been sympathetic to the Inspector's request.

Phryne removed her glasses to take in the breathtaking view with fresh eyes. Up here, the ocean breeze swept the sweat from her hot skin and whistled through the trees, sending showers of their fragrant white and yellow blooms, like charmed rain, through the air. From this distance, the thunderous sound of waves pounding the shore was muted but no less diminished in its majesty, and Phryne delighted in being able to see the white caps approach counting the seconds until they folded over themselves and crashed, sending up a spray of thick, white foam.

"It's a good place to come and have a think," Jack shared.

Dragging her eyes from the scenery, Phryne sought out his face. He was looking up at her through his golden lashes, a content smile framed on his lips, giving her a glimpse of the boy that was Jack Robinson. It made her knees grow weak and she couldn't help but smile back. "I can see that. And what have you been thinking about, Jack?"

"Oh," he remarked, flitting his hand casually through the air. "The usual." He paused dramatically, as if about to reveal the secrets of the ages.

"I'm low on eggs at the moment. And, I've been considering a new pair of shoes..." he clucked, smirking and raising an eyebrow, noting with delight that his expression was mirrored in Phryne's face. "How do you feel about black instead of brown? Might be less prone to show blood stains."

"Mmm," Phryne replied in amusement, kicking her own shoes into the grass and settling next to him. She leaned back, propping up on her hands, and nudged his worn oxford with her bare, outstretched foot. "I think the brown suits you."

The curl at the corner of his mouth inched up a bit further at this.

Jack had no intention of vocalizing that his thoughts had, of late, consisted almost solely of the exasperating woman who was currently sitting painfully close to him. He didn't have to. His eyes, which had crinkled in jest only seconds before, now smoldered as they lowered their sights to her toes and blazed a path up her body before lingering on her lips.

Phryne felt herself holding her breath - as if Jack were painting her with his gaze - not wanting to mar his image of her with movement.

"And what suits you, Phryne?" he asked quietly, barely audible over the rush of the wind and the cries of the gulls.

He had to know. He told himself it wouldn't make a difference but, he had to know. Was this to be a dalliance or the beginning of something... more? The way his limbs ached to hold her, Jack had even made his peace with the idea of being her summer fling, if only to relieve the pain temporarily. Of course, he had also considered them moving to Tahiti, where it was summer all year long.

Phryne let the sound of her name wash over her again and grinned, letting her head fall back, her eyes flitter shut. "Depends on my mood, I suppose. I'm rather predisposed to emeralds, of course. You've seen them, Jack."

Jack needn't have been reminded. The sight of Phryne's Colombian emeralds was something he was not likely to forget though, that was hardly the answer to the question he was really asking.

"And haberdashery!" she exclaimed, obviously enjoying herself at his expense. She unpinned her sun hat and admired it thoroughly. "There's nothing like a good hat to lift one's spirits. Wouldn't you say?"

"Having been recently gifted a hat myself, Miss Fisher, I would have to agree."

At this, she chuckled and tilted her head cheekily - as if asking for a permission she wouldn't wait to be granted anyway. Perching her own sun hat atop his head, she adored how he narrowed his eyes in goodnatured censure and said nothing against her unorthodox actions. She tugged the brim down in fond reminiscence before yanking it off again, laughing in earnest now, and tossing it in the direction of her discarded shoes.

The trace of her laugh was still etched on her face when Jack reached up to rake his hair back into place. He seemed to be unconscious of the gesture as he looked out over the water, a soft smile on his face. He had caught some of the longer locks between his fingers and she watched, transfixed, as the strands slotted through the gaps, winking golden flashes in the sunlight, the clipped hairs undulating with the weight of his hand as it slid down the back of his neck.

Though it must have been 38 degrees, even in the shade, The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher shivered. All traces of amusement dropped from her features as her eyes turned dark as night and her lips poised to make a pledge she had never dared before.

"You, Jack Robinson."

He turned to face her and was met with two slender, pale arms that wrapped around his neck like a vice, pulling him closer.

"You suit me," she breathed. "Perfectly."

And as if to show him just how well he fit her, she pressed herself against him and kissed him, dragging one of his large hands over her hip, as she had imagined (albeit with clothes - they were in public, and in broad daylight, after all). His left hand instinctively cupped her cheek. She nearly mirrored him, alternatively drawing her fingers over his jaw and stroking the back of his neck, while her other arm wound around him, up and under his waistcoat to trace the muscles of his back.

It wasn't long before Jack became deeply unsatisfied with his own complacency and began to explore the eager lady detective, who was obligingly kissing him as though her very life depended on it.

"Jack," she complained between his own brand of decadent kisses, "How... can you... still... be wearing... this... blasted... waistcoat?" She could feel his smug smile beneath her lips and it irritated her almost as much as the unwanted layer of fabric.

"We are in public, Miss Fisher. And, in broad daylight," he teased her, tracing his lips over the suspected trail of that new perfume. _Oh, god, he was right about her clavicle._ Wondering if she would mind but not bothering to ask, he dragged his teeth over the delicate bones. He was rewarded with a whimper.

"That's not fair," she huffed, extracting herself from his mouth and pinning him to the spot with her gaze as it settled on his tie. Her hands found familiar territory as they slid up the length of icy blue and navy silk to where the knot hung loosely, coming undone in seconds at her swift touch. She defiantly popped open the next button on his shirt along the way. Tugging as a magician would pull scarves from a top hat, she extracted the tie from beneath his collar.

"Now, Jack," she drawled, letting the tie wave in the breeze like the tail of a kite. "I know how much you like this tie."

"Miss Fisher!" he warned, as sternly as he could muster with his arousal straining at his trousers.

"In fact, I'm rather fond of it myself," she continued as if she had not heard, and sat up very straight. He made to grab it but she was faster, edging away from him and scrambling up to her feet. "Nevertheless, if you do not rid yourself of that damned waistcoat, Jack, I shall be forced to send this tie to meet its maker."

"You wouldn't," Jack retorted, biding for time.

"You think so?" She arched her back, stretching her arm even further, giving the tie more berth as she released all but two fingertips of her right hand.

"All right," he gritted. "All right! Calm down." Raising his outstretched hands to mid-chest in a perfectly executed surrender, Jack rose cautiously and began to undo the first button on the dark grey wool.

"Very good," Phryne encouraged, wiggling the tie. "Keep going."

Jack continued to unbutton the barrier until it hung loosely from his shoulders. "Satisfied?" he asked, rather tartly, not missing the elevation of her breath or the strain of her nipples jutting against her blouse as she watched him.

"Almost," she said, her eyes glittering.

He encouraged the waistcoat down his arms with a lazy twist of his torso, flicking it with a wrist toward her pile of shod accessories. The feeling of the breeze cooling his sweat-soaked shirt and skin caused him to shudder almost immediately, and he snapped his eyes shut, allowing himself a moment to recover from the sensation. When he opened them, Phryne seemed almost spellbound.

And then, Jack lunged. Phryne saw him take that long stride and knew he was coming for her but she felt like she was standing in quicksand. The realization dawned on her that his little striptease had met its aim. Holding the tie up over her head, she released it into the wind anyway - thinking that if she was going to down, she might as well go down big.

But she had forgotten not only that Jack Robinson had excellent timing, but also that the exceptional physique she had spied in Queenscliff was likely due to an inclination toward athleticism.

Jack caught the tie in mid-air - as if marking on the football field - and brought his arm down around her back, binding her to himself, while the fingertips of his other hand dug into her right side, causing her to writhe and giggle in his arms.

"Jaaacckk!" she shrieked in laughter, as he continued to tickle her ribs.

After another breathless minute of torture, he stopped and kissed her passionately. "Do you give?"

"Yes," she panted, attempting to pull him in for another kiss.

"No more holding my clothes hostage," Jack admonished, holding back from her.

"I'm not making any promises," she cheeked back loftily.

"Then I can't be held responsible for what I might do in retaliation," he said in a smoldering tone that Phryne definitely wanted to get to know better.

"Good," she whispered appreciatively, biting his bottom lip as her stomach rumbled with sudden hunger. "Let's eat!"

Phryne settled cross-legged across from him on the rug, unwilling to deprive herself of the gorgeous feeling that came with being the object of Jack's very perceptive attentions.

Thinking that the longing currently taking over Jack's expression would surely be compounded by an offering of food, Phryne tucked into the hamper and began to fill a plate with all manner of delectable morsels. Small hand pies filled with chicken and ham, fresh peas dressed in lemon juice and mint and Mr. Butler's favorite potato salad, cubes of tender potato, hard cooked egg and green beans - a recipe of the late Mrs. Butler's that, he had assured his mistress, would bring the Inspector to his knees.

She was not disappointed. While Phryne had grown somewhat accustomed to Mr. Butler's excellent cooking, even she couldn't help but notice that this lunch was especially delicious. To someone like Jack - who fended for himself most nights and made due with sandwiches and soggy pies from the cart at lunch - pulling forkful after succulent forkful off the tines in the company of Phryne Fisher was pretty close to heaven. A fact he couldn't have hidden, even if he wanted to.

Corked bottles of lemonade and a perfectly ripe mango rounded out the meal, along with a spectacular argument - in which Phryne fervently denied that she might have drooled at the sight of Jack catching a piece of the fruit's flesh from the tip of her dagger with his teeth.

The sun had shifted, rendering their private spot into the shade of the trees and Jack stretched languidly, shuddering with a yawn.

"Don't do that Jack," she admonished but it was too late. She brought a hand up to cover her opening mouth. "Yawns are contagious." 

He grinned at her, delighted with the ease that had accompanied this dramatic twist in their partnership and packed the last of the picnic wares back into the hamper.

Taking advantage of the shade, Phryne removed her scarf and added it to the ever-growing pile of discarded clothing. She laid back on the rug to look up at the sky and count the clouds that had begun to move in.

She beckoned Jack over with a wave of her hand and raised her knees to create a cradle at her hips, where he laid his head. Smiling wickedly to herself as she felt the flesh between her thighs burn, she stroked his hair, unable to see the way he shuttered his eyes in a desperate attempt to control himself as her scent overtook him.

But the heat of the day and the languor caused by their full bellies won out over passion in the end and both drifted off to sleep.

When the first fat raindrop hit Phryne's cheek, she peered out of one eye to find that the heavens looked as if they were about to fall.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack. Phryne. Hispano. Go!

"Jack!" she called, pushing on his shoulder and trying in vain to sit up as the weight of his head held her to the ground. Another drop was followed by several more in quick succession, one landing squarely on Jack's eyelid.

"What in the-?"

A bolt of lightning streaked across the blackening sky, capturing the scenery on Jack's mind's eye like a photograph. When the booming thunder clap followed, the very ground beneath them shook with urgency.

"Jack! Get up!" Phryne yelled. Rather unnecessarily, as Jack was already hustling to his feet. "We've got to get to the car!" She heaved their abandoned clothes onto the rug, along with her shoes and bundled it up like a sack as Jack grabbed for the hamper and took off at a clip.

He forged a path for them through the trees, branches whipping furiously in the gusts of wind that accompanied the encroaching storm. They approached the Hispano and Jack extracted the key from his trouser pocket, quickly opening the boot and stowing their supplies, lest someone on the street be knocked unconscious by a flying picnic basket. Inspecting the complicated rigging behind the back seat, Jack had to shout to be heard over the blossoming thunder. "Shall we put the top up?"

Phryne shook her head in response, looking up into the sky and flinching when a strike touched down far too close for comfort. They weren't safe out in the open like this. "We don't have time!"

As he turned to get in behind the wheel, the key was suddenly snatched from him by pale fingers and he found himself being shoved over to the passenger seat.

"Sorry, Jack!" she exclaimed, not looking the least bit sorry that she had been handed yet another opportunity to best Mother Nature that day. "I fear we've only minutes to make it to The Esplanade," she reasoned, executing a perfect - if rushed - three-point-turn. He barely had time to cross himself in mock horror before the motor car took off, shooting small rocks like projectiles from under its wheels and scattering a spray of fallen flowers out and over its wake like a blooming cape.

After having driven the Hispano himself, Jack found he had a new appreciation for the way Phryne handled the vehicle. Whereas he had maneuvered it rather gently, well within its comfort zone, she bent the car to her will and - as she did with nearly everything else in her life - pushed it to the hilt. Though, appreciation does not always translate into agreement.

"Miss Fisher!" he bellowed when she reached a breakneck speed along the normally busy thoroughfare. She was attempting to outrun the storm, which had picked up in intensity since they had peeled out of the rocky path and into the street. Fortunately, it seemed most of St. Kilda had not been idly napping unawares and the streets were nearly empty - a fact that the Inspector would have thanked god for, if he had possessed the inclination for that sort of thing.

Darkness was spreading over the landscape as the thunderheads moved in with alarming speed and Jack felt his skin prickle. _This was not good._

The sky ripped apart again as the air took on an odd, metallic smell and small marbles of ice began to _ping_ against the Hispano's windscreen and pelt them, exposed as they were, in the open car. "Nearly there!" she hooted as she flung them around the corner, shooting well past the front of 221B, the hail growing larger with each passing moment.

Jack looked at her incredulously as she drove around back toward her carriage house, rubbing his head where it had been hit by a chunk of ice large enough to justify having a glass of whiskey wrapped around it. "Sod the car, Phryne! We need to get indoors!"

"Two birds with one stone, Inspector!" she roared over the waves of thunder, plunging her bare foot onto the brake and stopping several yards from the freestanding structure, giving him a look of some expectation. "Hurry!"

Finally realizing what was being asked of him, Jack jumped out and wrenched the heavy garage doors open so Phryne could get her prized vehicle - and themselves - out of harm's way.

Bolting the doors behind him, Jack panted in a mixture of exertion and nerves. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wood, listening to the echoing maelstrom as the hail finally gave way to a torrent of rain. It sounded as though it was only the beginning. As if to confirm the Inspector's thoughts, peals of lightening brightened the insides of his eyelids. He was sure they would be stuck in here for a while. But at least they were out of the storm and out of the hazard that was a speeding motorcar with Phryne Fisher behind the wheel. Taking a deep breath, Jack allowed himself to relax.

The carriage house smelled familiar, a patina rendered into the very air, recognizable to anyone who had ever spent time in a garage or tinkered with tools and machines. Of oil and petrol, sawdust and lye soap.

He breathed it in, remembering days long past and the difficult journey his life had been. The choices he had made, the ones that had been thrust upon him. Yet, the scent gave him comfort even as it swirled into a new concoction, mixing with the metallic tinge of the storm and something else... the rendering of exotic spices and a woman's desire. He smiled before her hands had even touched him.

Phryne smoothed her palm up the expanse of Jack's back. She had been concerned for a moment but saw all was well when he turned to face her with gleaming eyes, a smile on his lips. She reached up and shook ice particles from his hair with a ruffle of her fingers. After taking a long draught from a crystal tumbler, she offered it to Jack.

"Mr. Butler's secret stash," she said in response to his arched eyebrow.

He threw the whiskey back, appreciating the pleasant way it seared his throat. "Thank you. But, after that ride, I may need the whole bottle," he chided as he set the glass down. His expression was one of resigned acceptance. He really would never get used to her driving.

"It wasn't _that_ bad," she insisted, looking up at him in that impish way she knew him to find both exasperating and irresistible. Its effect was further enhanced by the fact that, in her bare feet, she was at least a head shorter than him.

Jack rolled his eyes. "It's my fault. I forgot that something as innocent as a picnic can turn deadly when you're involved."

She tsk'd, unable to help herself from taking advantage of their new understanding and traced the shape of his pursed mouth with her thumb. He shuddered, clearing his throat and reaching up to wrangle a tie that he remembered, too late, wasn't there.

Phryne's lips curled in gratification as she took in his gesture. "I appreciate the compliment, Inspector. But, even I can't summon up a _tempest_."

"I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit, Miss Fisher," he told her, his irises as deeply grey as the thunderclouds outside.

Phryne felt her stomach turn molten as he gazed at her, radiating his desire in waves. She remembered how he had once appraised her from the base of her staircase and considered that it had been nothing to the way he was looking at her now.

Jack Robinson made her want to do things she had never done before. Well, not only _those_ kinds of things. She trusted him, sometimes allowing herself to fall vulnerable into his arms. Other times, she charged at him with the naked truth, waiting, daring for him to judge her. When he did not, it only made her want to reveal more - slowly peeling back layer after painful layer. Until she dared to know what it would be like to let just one man into her life - this man.

She wanted to quote poetry to him and wait, with bated breath, for his riposte. Jack's Rilke was an epiphany. And though Phryne had always enjoyed Shakespeare, his words held new meaning for her since hearing them drip like honey from Jack's tongue. She wondered if he knew she was secretly brushing up on them, slipping the works between her readings of the latest novels and forensic texts, hoping to best him. Hoping to provoke him.

She took a small step back and caught the hem of her blouse in her fingertips, pulling the silk fluidly up and over her head to be discarded thoughtlessly on the floor.

Phryne stood there before him, holding his gaze. She stretched her arms out at downward angles with her palms facing toward him and straightened her spine. "Will you dare take what you shall die to want?"

The slightest tick in his brow told her that he recognized the paraphrased passage. The way his mouth parted told her that he just might.

For the briefest moment, he stuttered, afraid he might falter under her expectations, unsure of exactly how he should begin... Until he remembered that only several hours ago, he had thought it impossible to follow the trail of her perfume.

Jack uttered not a word, allowing the violence of the storm to speak for him instead.

He leaned toward her and breathed her in. Bringing his hands up to her face, he brushed his knuckles over her cheeks and resisted the urge to kiss her. That, he felt, was the easy way out and he was hoping to make a slightly better impression.

The delicately carved mother-of-pearl earrings began to swing wildly as he his curled his fingers behind her ears. Tracing the tender skin from each of her earlobes down the arch of her throat, he memorized every line, every place that made her breath hitch. He brushed his thumbs where her now bared shoulders met her neck, kissing each spot with an impossibly light touch.

Jack heard her gasp but didn't dare look up, knowing he would succumb to her waiting mouth if he did. So he concentrated on her skin instead. He swirled his palms over the creamy, supple and so, so inviting rounds of her shoulders, sweeping them down her arms and back up again - when an image appeared unbidden in his mind. One that had often appeared in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep. One which involved a rather large expanse of creamy, supple and inviting skin, not to mention quite a lot of pink feathers.

He pushed the picture away almost as quickly as it came. There was no need for a memory when he had the real thing in his hands. _But, perhaps... one day,_ he permitted himself to think, _he might have the courage to ask..._

Feeling her pores ripple with gooseflesh, Jack returned his attention to where he had left off the trail. His fingers followed his gaze across her collarbones to where the notch met in the middle and he lowered his mouth to her, dipping his tongue in the indention and flicking the skin while his hands wound their way around her shoulders and his soft, wayward curls brushed against her cheek.

Phryne could not prevent the sounds of pleasure that rose up to the back of her throat but she could - and did - clench her hands into fists to resist the temptation of interrupting Jack's achingly exquisite touch. Patience was never her strong suit but she had invited him to take what he dared and desperately needed to see how far he would go. She was rewarded for her efforts when he pressed, ever lower, lingering on the edge of her camisole.

With the slip of silk under his fingertips, Jack mapped the trail between her breasts down to her navel, causing Phryne to falter in her battle for patience. She dug her fingers into his hair, his shoulder - anywhere - just to keep him this close.

He fell to her touch - his own plan completely hijacked, possessed as he was by an overwhelming ache to feel more of her. All of her. He gripped her waist tightly, stroking her breasts through the silk with his free hand and thinking he might well pass out from the sensation if the sound of Phryne's whimpers didn't get to him first.

She couldn't take any more. Pulling him up by his braces, Phryne dragged Jack into a kiss while shucking them off his shoulders and scrabbling him clumsily out of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. She scratched at his pert nipple with her fingernail and felt the air empty from her lungs as he sucked in her breath.

"Jesus Christ, Jack!" she swore. His raw reaction to her touch increasing her desire tenfold. She mouthed at the lines and knots of muscles before her. He smelled of leather and wool, of sea air and something undeniably _Jack_. Phryne decided right then that she would not go one day without smelling it again.

His neck was salty with sweat and she traced a line up and over his jaw. Finding his lips once more, she kissed him again and buried her tongue into that gorgeous mouth, tasting the sweetness of the mango they had shared. When he enveloped her in his arms, the press of his bare torso against her, she felt her flesh burn for him. With a strangled gasp, she scrambled away - out of his reach.

Her bare feet made a shuffling sound where they slid against the smooth cement pad of the floor, though it was swallowed by the rain which continued to pound down upon their shelter. Straining to breathe, Phryne lowered her trembling hands to her left hip and fingered the first button on her trousers until it popped open, making her intentions perfectly clear.

She was well aware that Jack Robinson was not the kind of man to let his desires overrule his judgment. Committing a sexual act with her could never be a trifle. At the foreshore, she had confessed as much of her feelings as she had dared. She loved Jack. She knew it - even if she wasn't entirely ready to admit it. Remembering how he had turned to look at her, how his eyes had softened, she thought he had understood. Phryne hoped it would be enough, for now.

He was a man of honour. So it was only right to honour him, to give him the choice. Meeting his gaze, her voice was small but it never faltered. "You may deny me, but I’ll be your servant, whether you will or no."

Jack couldn't help but smile at that. Leave it to Miss Fisher to twist a marriage proposal into a proposition. Though he couldn't imagine The Bard minding all that much. To be honest, he loved her all the more for it. She was leaving it up to him. A choice to retreat back to their safe - if hollow - familiarity or to take a blind leap into something wonderful and potentially lethal.

To his great surprise, he found he was ready to step off the precipice. Well, charge, really. Phryne Fisher wanted him. Perhaps even loved him. He had heard her words and had come to know her well enough to discern the meaning that lay beneath. It might be some time before she could tell him the truth but he could no longer deny the way she looked at him. And she had just pledged to stand by him no matter his decision. If that wasn't love, he asked himself, what was?

He took a step toward her and noted that she had already begun to smirk in delight at his advance. When he was close enough, he lowered his head and rumbled in her ear, "With a heart as willing, I thus humble ever."

Phryne turned her head to meet his mouth, letting his limbs tangle around her. It wasn't until he felt the swish of the fabric that Jack realized she had liberated herself from her trousers. His hands reached for her hips, circling his thumbs into the hollows before cupping the globes of her backside and lifting her up, into his arms.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her hips over his, feeling his arousal, well and proper, for the first time. She hummed her approval and was answered by his velvet tongue stroking through her mouth, his hands gripping her tighter. The Inspector really was full of surprises.

The storm continued to pummel the carriage house as its occupants grappled with clothing and kissed until their lips were tender and swollen. There would be plenty of time for exploring later. For now, they just needed to feel, to release the unbearable burden of desire that had been burning for so long - so they could do it all over again, hopefully after a homecooked meal, a long bath, and in the absolute comfort of Phryne's boudoir.

Having been expertly stripped down to his last undergarment, Jack glanced around, surveying his options.

Phryne tilted her head toward the Hispano and gave him a meaningful look, a mischievous grin alighting her face.

He stared at her, unbelieving. "No."

"Oh, yes!" she insisted, her eyes wide at the prospect.

"No... I couldn't."

"You could," Phryne assured him, kissing his neck and stroking a wicked finger along the length of him. "In fact..." she continued, "You'd be the only one."

Jack's mouth was suddenly very dry. "P-Pardon?" he asked, his body already betraying him by giving an unmistakable twitch. "You mean, you've... never?"

"Never," she confirmed, hoping the honour would only entice him further. Her eyes glittered in the grey light.

"Ja-ack..." she let the entreaty hang in the air, sweeping her fingers across his lean stomach as she stepped past him.

By the time he had released his breath and turned around, Phryne had draped herself lengthwise across the Hispano's back coach. She was resplendent in her ivory camiknickers, and was gazing at him with a wanton expression. There's a limit to what a man can take - even if that man is Jack Robinson.

He climbed in and all self-consciousness about sitting in the motor car, with nothing between his bare arse and its fine upholstery but his smalls, evaporated as he stroked up the lengths of her curvy legs with both hands.

While his hands moved over her skin, the strategic part of Jack's brain - the part that was largely responsible for improvised tactical maneuvers during raids and probably got him out of the War in one piece - was already calculating the geometry of the space, the various angles, and had decided on the best possible scenario. It was fortuitous that the part responsible for pleasure was also quite in agreement.

In one swift movement, his arms wrapped around her and lifted her into his lap. His body recognized the posture immediately. The feeling of her weight straddling his thighs, her hands on his shoulders, the way the strands of her hair fell toward him. So powerful was the reminiscence, that he pulled her tightly to him and suckled her right breast - fabric and all - in his mouth, the way he had wanted to all those months ago.

Phryne cried out, the sensations of Jack's hot, insistent mouth and his sudden lack of inhibition almost too much to bear. She squeezed his thighs with her knees, desperate for any relief she could find. How could she have gone without his touch for so long? It might have been laughable, if not for the way Jack had just taken her nipple gently into his teeth, causing her to see stars.

She felt his hands snake up her back, nudging the thin straps from her shoulders, and relished the slip of the silk as it slid down her torso before catching at the curve of her hips. The sharp intake of his breath caused her to look down where Jack had an expression of such hunger on his face, she felt as though she was about to be devoured.

She watched as he kissed the newly bared flesh - his jaw moving as he kissed and licked her, the hollows of his cheekbones caving in as he sucked her other breast - until the sight rendered her helpless with lust.

"Jack... Pleeease," she whispered, when she was able to find her voice. Her fingers, which were threaded around his face, felt the muscles of his mouth suddenly freeze.

When it came to the impetuous lady detective, Jack had dreamt a lot of things. From the feeling of her beneath him to the ridiculous notion that she might, one day, with a lot of persuasion, finally consent to adhere to the speed limit. But never in his wildest imagination did he ever think he would hear Phryne Fisher beg.

Silently, he removed her from his lap to stand before him in the space between his knees and the back of the front seat, and peeled the silk from where it had pooled at her waist so she was bared completely. His eyes swept along the whole of her, from top to bottom and back again, before getting lost in her darkened eyes. He felt his heart lurch in his chest. She was so beautiful and he, so in love with her. The Hispano-Suiza was a car built for a king. But Jack knew that no king had ever felt as rich as he felt at that moment.

He placed his hand on her chest, the once creamy skin now mottled with pink, to feel her heart beat. The thrum was soon echoed by the pulse in his fingertips as they moved lower, splaying wide across her belly - his hand so large it nearly encompassed the width of her, rising and falling with each breath she took. Jack knew she didn't want to wait but this was to be their first time together and he wanted to make it last, make it count. He traced the long lines of her abdomen with his lips, felt the shiver break out on her sweat-soaked skin, and worshipped her with abandon.

Those burning lips traveled down past her navel to the tender spot flanked by her hipbones, where her desire sat coiled and pulsing - ready to spring at any moment. With the rain continuing to pound down on the roof, Phryne couldn't hear his words. But she felt a small puff of breath. Felt him whisper something against her skin as his trembling fingers rasped on her hips. His eyes, when she met them, were dark and full of emotion, and the tiny wrinkles he usually bore, like badges of merit to his pain and worry, were all smoothed away.

She brought her hand to his chin and cradled it, a serene smile crossing her lips as she leaned in to kiss him - this time as slowly and gently as her overwrought body would allow.

"You're sure?" Phryne asked when their lips finally broke apart.

He couldn't find the words to speak so, he solemnly nodded his head and implored her with his eyes.

Her mouth was suddenly on him again as insistent hands tugged at the cotton at Jack's hips. He lifted them from the seat so she could slide the fabric down his legs to meet with her own discarded underthings.

The last barrier between them vanquished, Phryne pulled back to admire the one man she had decided was worth a shot at monogamy.

Jack couldn't help feel a bit of awkwardness creep in as his smalls hit the floorboards. Here he was, naked but for his wristwatch, about to have nonmarital relations in the back of a vehicle that cost more than he would earn in ten years, being appraised by _the_ most vexing, attractive and clever person in his acquaintance.

Never one to form a negative opinion based solely on physical features, Phryne was most often attracted to a person's energy. _Jack had to worry on neither count,_ she thought. He was positively beautiful.

It wasn't until she had stopped looking at his member for long enough for him to catch her eye that he saw the look of unadulterated longing there. He felt his confidence return almost instantly. He fisted his hand into her hair and brought her mouth down to his for a searing kiss, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation of her tongue curling against the roof of his mouth. A guttural moan rose up in the air between them and he could tell by the way her lips twitched in satisfaction, that it had been wrenched from his own throat.

Having decided that Jack had been right about the best position (a thought she filed away to examine later with glee), she rose over him and felt his hands come to her waist to steady her.

Slipping her right hand over the silky length of him, she guided herself down on him slowly, savoring the pressure of every inch before slowly raising back up and taking him further, allowing her muscles time to stretch and expand to accommodate him.

For his part, Jack held on to her, fighting for breath as she surrounded him with her warm wet flesh. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman and while he took some sense of pride in his self-control, Miss Fisher was no ordinary woman. Every nerve in his body was humming, pulsing with the feel of her as she continued to sink down around him. He felt her push against his shoulders as she lifted her hips once more and braced for impact.

Her left palm settled on Jack's cheek and tilted his face towards hers, holding it there. She wanted to see it when it happened - when they were, at last, joined in the way for which they had always been intended. To imprint the moment in her memory forevermore. When he was fully sheathed in her at last, he filled her so completely, Phryne suddenly felt as though she might cry or laugh with the beauty of it. Instead, she lowered her face to his and whispered his name.

It felt like he had come home. Jack's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, only to snap open at the sound of his name, uttered in a way he had never heard it spoken before. "Say that again," he begged.

When he only received a sly smile in return, he pulled down hard on her hips, arched his back and rolled up on the balls of his feet, burying himself into her as far as he could go. Jack heard only a strangled cry escape her lips before the sensation of being squeezed from the inside out sent a rush of blood through his ears, driving out all other sound, save his own gasping plea.

Phryne wrapped her arms around Jack's neck and pressed a kiss to his lips, using her muscles to draw him in further and hold him there tight, as close as two people can possibly get. Closer. When they had both stopped shaking, she pulled just slightly away and flashed him a sinister grin. "No head start necessary this time, Inspector."

Jack smirked back at her, smoothing his hands over the bottoms of her feet, along her calves and up her thighs, past the arc of her hips and the ridges of her ribs. "That's a shame, Miss Fisher," he conceded, circling the rough pads of his thumbs agonizingly around the petal pink skin of her nipples, feeling smug when she winced in pleasure. "I was rather looking forward to it."

Phryne's heart leaped. Jack was going to be so much fun. "Race you to the finish line," she sang, twisting her hips over him in challenge.

She felt the sting of his teeth at her breast as his strong arms buoyed her up so she could slide down against him once more. In a jumble of entangled, sweaty limbs and clashing mouths, they found a frenetic rhythm - each desperate for more friction, more heat. Just. More.

Phryne leaned back, bracing her hands against the seat behind her so Jack could thrust up into her in earnest. The air was filled with the sounds of their desire and the reality of hearing her dour inspector coming undone sent her reeling.

Her head fell back as she felt him hit that place inside her and a bright, white light that had nothing to do with the storm flashed in front of her eyes. "Yes, Jack!" she cried as he obliged her once more. "Please!" And, the sound of her entreaties made his blood boil like lava in his veins.

The last thing she saw before she came was his face, angular and darkened, the muscles of his stomach curling with tension as he crashed into her over and over again. She had the sensation of being lifted in the air as Jack's thighs contracted below her, his hips rising as he bolstered himself up between the seats and cried out for her.

Phryne floated down and felt Jack's hands at her spine, supporting her, folding her into his chest as he continued to shudder with his own release. He whispered her name and kissed her shoulder, stroking her skin as he embraced her, holding her tightly to him so she would not see him fighting the tears that were unexpectedly pricking at his eyes.

When the small drop splashed against her neck, she pulled back and brought Jack's face to hers with shaking fingers. "I know, darling," she breathed. "I know," and lowered her mouth to his in a decadent kiss.

Releasing him for breath, she saw a tiny smile mirrored in his handsome face. A sated Jack was truly a beautiful thing to behold, she thought and realized that she was still vibrating with the strength of her orgasm. His softening member was starting to slip out of her, grazing her swollen bud and creating a sudden suck of need. She felt a relentless pulse begin to build within her again and groaned at the tug of the pleasure-pain it caused.

"Jack," she whispered, her voice needy and small.

Hearing it again, Jack was certain that sound would be the very end of him. "Phryne..." he began, unable to keep his hands out of her hair, pressing a kiss to her parted lips. "What?" he demanded in a strangled whisper. "Anything," he promised when she keened again, desperate to know what he could do to give her more pleasure. She met his hand at her cheek and nuzzled into it before tugging it down to where their bodies had been joined. He sucked in his breath she guided his fingers past her dark curls to where they slipped on her slick hot flesh.

"Touch me," she said, pressing his thumb to a small fleshy nodule as she encouraged his other fingers to curl against her.

Jack wasn't completely ignorant to the notion that a woman could be pleasured this way - he was well read, after all. Actually doing it, however, was another matter entirely. As it stood, he was fighting off a sudden wave of dizziness - the feeling of her in his hand was possibly the most erotic thing he had ever known. But he was nothing if not a detective. He'd spent most of his life paying attention to details often overlooked by others, fine-tuning his read of other people's reactions. Surely, he could do this. Getting his bearings, he circled the node as he had her nipple and watched as she closed her eyes, a wide smile spreading across her lips.

Before long, Phryne had fastened her other arm around him, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. Her huffs and moans tickled his neck as Jack stroked and teased her. He measured her breath, lingering longest where it made her gasp, finding the places that forced his name from her lips. Her hand had trailed up to his arm to curl tightly around his bicep but now it returned to his, stroking along the length of his fingers and nudging them toward her centre.

"Now, Jack," she demanded in a breathy voice. He pushed his long fingers inside her, reveling in her incomparable softness, stretching them out and stroking her in a steady rhythm while his thumb relentlessly swirled against her.

She writhed against him and he had to clamp his arm around her back, his hand at the nape of her neck - almost as if restraining a suspect - in order to maintain his contact with her. Phryne's once perfect hair was now plastered to her face in sweaty patches, her ivory complexion flushed, all traces of her lipstick gone (though he suspected he might find some on himself), her self-satisfied pout replaced with parted lips, teeth bared in agony. He had never seen her look more fierce. Or beautiful.

He increased his efforts, gritting his own teeth as her pleas washed over him. He felt her hand squeeze hard against his and he instinctively mirrored her action, bringing all of his fingers together like the petals of a sun orchid closing at dusk and pulsed them into her flesh. Her hips suddenly bucked toward him and she sobbed, pressing her forehead to his as he felt he felt the rings of her muscles convulse violently against his fingers.

The sensation was too much for Jack to bear. He buried his face into her neck and bit down to muffle a moan as an unexpected orgasm tore him in two. His last coherent thought as his world turned to flames around him had been to wonder how, the devil, had that happened.

When he came to, she was leaning back against him, slick with sweat and desire, and sighing in delight. His arms had come to wrap around her, their hands entwined in a slippery, beautiful mess. He leaned in and kissed her neck, remembering where he had bitten her - rather harder than he had meant to.

"Mmm," was her only reply.

"I'm afraid that's going to leave a mark," he admitted sheepishly.

"That's quite alright," she purred. "You've already left your mark on me rather indelibly, Jack. Dental records notwithstanding."

"Is that so?" he asked and craned his neck around to look at her, his eyebrow raised in intrigue and found her eyes closed, a sated smile on her face.

"Oh, yes," she replied, trailing playful fingers over the outsides of his thighs to his hips, until he wiggled beneath her.

She seemed unwilling to elaborate on the subject so, Jack did not push. But he suspected he understood. Phryne Fisher had stormed into his life, thrusting everything he had thought he held dear into upheaval. As it turned out, she had reignited a passion for living that he had thought long extinguished. For that alone, he was grateful. But this... Being with her like this was a revelation. She had made her mark upon him, too.

They lay together for a while in the back of the Hispano, enjoying the closeness and the sound of the rain as it slowed to a light, steady patter. The light falling through the garage windows was brighter than it had been, though it was surely nearing dusk. The storm was finally blowing over. Jack held up her hand in his, admiring the juxtaposition - hers was pale, slender and yet so strong, while his was rough and knobbly. But refined enough, he thought, to draw music from both a piano and her lips. Phryne pulled his knuckles to her mouth and kissed each one in turn.

A clatter outside broke the comfortable silence. Phryne sauntered to the door and peered out of a crack near the hinge. She hid a giggle behind her hand as Jack leaped out of the car in panic, attempting to drag on as much of his clothing as he could find. "Not to worry, Jack. It's only the neighbors. By the looks of it, their chook pen was taken out by the storm."

Jack tucked his head above hers and watched for a moment as a man drug a large piece of dislodged fencing through the garden, back toward the house on the corner. "Knowing your household, it won't be long before the cavalry arrives. Come on, Phryne! Get dressed!"

She ignored his worry and continued to survey the extraction of the chicken coop from her side garden for several more long minutes, supremely unconcerned by the fact that she had not a stitch on. Jack, however, was vexed to no end. She enjoyed it thoroughly and couldn't stifle her laugh this time as he waved her trousers insistently at her, an expression of pure frustration on his face.

Finally, she relented. But only after she had spied Mr. Butler arrive on the scene, a sense of purpose on his wise face. While the thought of her houseman finding them in such a compromised state did not bother her in the least, Phryne suspected it might be a little much for the Inspector to take so soon. Though, he was going to have to get used to the idea.

"If you insist," she huffed, allowing him the pleasure of believing that he'd persuaded her. Jack seemed rather relieved.

They managed to dress and tidy themselves up a bit before unbolting the garage doors to find a very surprised Mr. Butler.

"I'll just get the tin snips!" he was calling back to the neighbor's gardener as the doors opened wide. "Miss! Inspector Robinson! I thought you might have gotten caught in the storm," he said in earnest concern.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Butler," Jack said politely, studiously avoiding Phryne's eyes as he blushed lightly. "Ah, no. We made it here just in time."

"The picnic was divine, Mr. B!" Phryne raved. "Shall we take the hamper in?"

"Nonsense!" Mr. Butler insisted, waving her off with a hand. "Leave it to me. There's lemon water and tea sandwiches in the dining room. You both look like you could do with a bit of freshening up. It's dreadfully hot," he sympathized. The carriage house had little circulation and both detectives looked like they had been sweating buckets.

Miss Fisher dug the car key out of her pocket with a grin and tossed it into the man's waiting hand. Turning to take the Inspector's proffered arm, she spun on her heel in second-thought. "Oh! Mr. B? Would you mind taking the Hispano in for a wash and detail tomorrow? She's rather a mess..." She flashed Jack a wicked smile, which had the effect of turning him a riotous pink. "We were cooped up in her for most of the storm. And it was _awfully_ hot in here."

"Of course, Miss," he confirmed, nodding her and her Inspector swiftly out. Mr. Butler moved to unlock the boot when he spied something that stopped him dead in his tracks. He retrieved his mistress' undergarment from the floorboard and folded it neatly across his forearm. "Hot indeed, Miss," he said under his breath, smiling from ear to ear. "Positively sweltering."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shakespeare quoted is from _The Tempest_. Sorry, I couldn't resist a cheesy tie-in with the raging storm. Miranda delivers this speech to Ferdinand in Act III, Scene i, declaring her undying love for him and proposes marriage to him, which he accepts. Phryne chooses the passage with her usual cheek.
> 
> Miranda's exact words (lines 78-80) are, "At mine worthiness, that dare not offer what I desire to give and much less take what I shall die to want." Phryne sees Jack as Miranda and paraphrases her words, asking Jack if he has the courage to take what he wants from her.
> 
> Phryne's next quote is also from Miranda (lines 86-87), "You may deny me, but I’ll be your servant, whether you will or no." The difference is, she's speaking as herself, now. Miranda is pledging to Ferdinand that she will be his whether he takes her as his wife or not. By choosing these words, Phryne is promising Jack that she will respect his decision whether he chooses to escalate their relationship to the physical or not and will stand by him, either way.
> 
> Jack, of course, knows the passage and understands Phryne's meaning. He paraphrases Ferdinand's acceptance of Miranda's proposal (lines 88 and 90) to demonstrate his intention to move things forward and stand by her. Jack's words are, "With a heart as willing, I thus humble ever." Meaning that he'll serve her with a willing heart. 
> 
> Reference to the Sun Orchid, or Thelymitra crinita. Thelymitra is a terrestrial orchid genus found in Australia and New Zealand. Thelymitra is known as the "Sun Orchid," due to its tendency to open only on sunny days and close at night or during cold or cloudy weather. As it happens, one species of the blue Thelymitra are the exact color of Phryne's eyes in the TV series.


End file.
